Gold

CHAPTER 1

A buzzard drifts fifteen hundred feet above the earth in random arcs, searching for something dead to eat. It tilts its wings from side to side to keep its head steady in the shifting air currents, as if it were a tightrope walker shifting a balance beam back and forth to maintain balance.

The sun sparkles on metal buildings below. The buzzard can smell the difference between the living and the dead from two miles away. It circles the building as odors not smelled before drift upwards. One moment the smell of death rises up and the next the smell of life. The buzzard watches, as below, it flesh that is neither alive nor dead takes shelter from the scorching sun.

*****

What? What did you say? asked Matt. He leaned forward in his chair. Suddenly, he was all ears. Johnny, who was sitting next to Hargrove in the front of the room, gave Matt a sharp look for not paying attention. Site staff meetings, while rare, didn't normally provide any new information. The rumor- and gossipmongers usually spread all the useful information before normal meetings. This meeting was different.

I said we’re shutting down our operations, said Mr. Hargrove. He was the petroleum engineer for this site and the other two sites that Central States Drilling operated. The shale is too thin here to support gas extraction. It is only forty feet thick here. If we frack the shale the bed will crack. All the gas will leak out of the formation and be lost.

Are you laying us off? asked the new guy, Johnson, in the back of the room.

Hargrove was silent a moment as he chose his words. We want volunteers to be reassigned to other drill sites. We’ll look at the list to see if we can accommodate. If we decide to cap the well we will need some to stay to seal and dismantle the drill rig. Most likely, we will use this site as an injection well to dispose of used fracturing fluids from the other two sites. We'll only need half the people to do this. He paused and looked at the now quiet group. It's just a matter of time before everyone will have to seek employment elsewhere.

How long do we have? someone asked.

Hargrove said, I can't say at this time. Weeks, not months. All drill sites are temporary; they all shut down.

Matt knew Hargrove was referring to the company roustabouts. The local temps would be let go right now. Life was hard.

After the meeting Matt waited until the others had filed out of the office before he approached Johnny. The office building was really just a modified two-bedroom mobile home. The rooms that were normally bedrooms were used for storage. The family room had been converted into the main office and meeting room. The small kitchen retained its function as a food preparation area.

The floors and roof were reinforced to withstand frequent travel on unimproved roads. Normal mobile homes are designed to travel on a road only two or three times in their lifetime. Any more shaking than that and they are likely to start coming undone at the seams. This thing could travel across the United States each year and still remain structurally sound.

Well, what do you think? asked Matt.

About what? asked Johnny. If the shale is too thin, it’s too thin.

Matt shrugged. I just got here. I was hoping we could work together again for a while.

We’ll see. This place isn’t shut down until it’s shutdown, said Johnny.

What does that mean?

It means let’s not worry too much about things we can’t control. Johnny crossed his arms. Did you go home, or did you come directly here from North Dakota?

Yes, I came straight here. It’s been almost seventeen years since I’ve been home. I didn’t see any point in going there now.

Where are you from? Arizona?

Yeah. Williams, Arizona. Up near the Canyon.

You should’ve gone home for a couple days, said Johnny.

When was the last time you were home? asked Matt.

Over twenty years, but that’s different.

How so? asked Matt. What makes you not going home different from me not going home?

My old man threw me out. You know that. You’ve known that for years.

OK, he threw you out. So? That was twenty years ago. You think he still feels the same? asked Matt. Johnny looked down and said nothing. Look at me man. Nothing is the same as it was twenty years ago. Nothing.

After the meeting, Matt burst from the office mad as hell. He stopped; blinded by the sunlight, he cupped his hands over his eyes as they slowly adjusted. He didn’t like that he and Johnny might be split up again. He enjoyed working with Johnny. He was the best driller he had ever met.

This was Matt’s first job as a shift foreman and it was unlikely there would be another foreman position open at another drill site. He would have to take a roustabout position. He didn't mind that in itself. Roustabouts were the skilled permanent company labor that kept a rig operating. However, Johnny was a site supervisor and Matt did want very much to continue working with Johnny. If Johnny had to take a lower position, it would be as a shift foreman. As a roustabout Matt would only see Johnny occasionally.

Matt turned off the main walkway and went down the slope. The loose gravel, bleached gray by the sun, crunched beneath his scuffed, never-been-polished boots. Out of sight of the office he stopped and took a drink from his water bottle and carefully replaced the bottle cap. The company required all personnel to carry a water bottle at all times. Dehydration occurred swiftly in this part of Texas and dehydration caused disorientation, disorientation caused accidents and you don't want accidents around a drill rig. Accidents around drill rigs kill people.

He continued on. Loose rock on the path gave way under his weight. Matt's arms waved wildly in the air and he whipped his back from side to side, but he did not fall. However, his water bottle went flying high through the air. It landed with a thud and scooted down the trail. It hit a rock and bounced to the left and disappeared under a rock overhang.

Shit! said Matt.

He walked over, and stood in front of the overhang with his hands on his hips. It consisted of white limestone with layers of yellow sandstone that hung a foot off the ground, forming a miniature cave.

Matt knelt down and peered into the shadows. Darkness. He shaded his eyes to help them adjust to the shadows. Two feet inside he saw the barest outlines of his water bottle. Matt lay on his stomach and with his left hand felt around trying to reach it. Got it.

As he stood up he felt something tickling on his left hand. Twenty small scorpions were running all around over his hand and water bottle. They scurried around bewildered and confused by the sudden sunlight.

He had never seen such tiny pale scorpions. They must be babies only a few days old. They all stopped at once and curled their tails upwards over their backs. For a tenth of a second the scorpions and Matt just stared at each other. He was about to shake them off his hand when, in unison, they struck their stingers through his skin into his flesh. Their tiny back legs lifted into the air and furiously moved back and forth, trying to gain traction in the air to push their stingers in deeper.

He dropped his water bottle and shook his hand. Baby scorpions flew in all directions. He looked at his hand. Two scorpions still clung to him. He shook again even harder than before.

They were gone, but his hand did not feel right. It started to itch and then tingle. Several little white pimple-looking marks rose up. Now it started to burn. Those damn baby scorpions. Matt started to sweat and his hand started to swell. Dropping to his knees he grabbed his left wrist with his right hand and squeezed with all his might. He felt light-headed. Oh, please God. Don’t let me die here, he thought. As the swelling increased, the fiery pain eased, but he could no longer bend his left wrist. Matt took off his belt and used it for a tourniquet on his left forearm.

Please don’t let me die here, Matt whispered aloud. He got up and staggered back up the slope toward the office. His forgotten water bottle lay in the middle of the trail. Again he slipped on loose rocks and this time fell flat on his face. He sat up and spat gravel and dirt from his mouth.

Matt felt dizzy. He wiped his eyes and face with the bottom of his shirt. The alkaline taste of the soil soured his mouth. Once more he trudged on up the slope.

Matt burst into the office.

Help me, he shouted. Johnny, the only one remaining in the office after the meeting, sitting at the desk under the windows looked up. Startled, he jumped up from his desk.

What? asked Johnny.

I need help! shouted Matt. I’ve been bit.

Johnny stared at Matt’s swollen hand. His mouth fell open.

A snake? You’ve been snake-bit?

No, God damn it. Git me to a hospital. I’ve been bit by a bunch of scorpions.

Scorpions? Scorpions did that to you?

Hell, yes. I don’t feel well. I feel all funny. I can’t see right. Everything is all blurry I don’t think I am going to make it. Please git me to a hospital! said Matt. Oh, shit. I got to sit down.

CHAPTER 2

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Matt started to sway. Johnny grabbed him by his shoulder, hugged Matt to steady him, then looked into Matt’s eyes. They moved randomly across his face and were unable to focus. He felt Matt’s chest for his heartbeat. His heart raced with great thumping beats. He put Matt’s right arm around his shoulders and slowly walked Matt out of the office and to Johnny’s truck.

Old Reliable fired up immediately and belched a great cloud of blue smoke. The county, in the middle of nowhere, Texas, had no 911 service. Even if Johnny knew the direct phone number of the hospital, there was no point in calling. The only ambulance service in the county operated out of a funeral home in Clifton. It would be better to transport themselves to the hospital by private car than to wait on the ambulance staffed by people who had gotten their training on YouTube.

How you doing, buddy? Johnny asked every five minutes. Matt gave no response to any of Johnny’s queries. He just raised a hand to signal he was conscious; otherwise he slumped against the passenger side door. Matt seemed immune to the shaking and rattling of Johnny’s truck as Johnny sped too fast around the curves of the narrow county road. Matt groaned only whenever Johnny hit a big enough bump to cause Matt to hit his head on the car window. It took Johnny forty minutes to get Matt to the Clifton hospital.

*****

In Meridian they turned south on Highway 6. On their left was the Bosque River and its broad deep-soil valley covered in wheat fields. On their right were a series of steep flat-topped hills. Some hills were just isolated humps of land thrown up from the prairie. Others were long and rambling, worming their way over the prairie for miles.

The tops of the hills had hard flat shields of ancient gray basalt rocks and lava flows. No grass grew on the hilltops, only juniper and cedar trees. Their dead needles lay about, inches deep, dry, brown and brittle. The steep sides, made of crumbly alkaline limestone, were covered with thick juniper brush.

Buzzards loved the isolation of the hilltops and built their nests in trees at the edge of the rim-tops. There they launched themselves into the air each morning by simply falling from their nests. Down the edge they would fall until they gathered enough air speed. They would then flare out into long slow horizontal flights. Without a single a flap of their wings they would catch the warm air thermals rising from the prairie below.

Armadillos, raccoons, skunks and possums loved the daytime safety provided by the cover of the hillsides. Each night they would leave the safety of the junipers and descend across the prairie to search for food. Each night some met their death on the Texas highways. Each morning the buzzards launched themselves and patrolled for the inevitable road kill of the previous night.

*****

The small-town hospital had no emergency entrance. Johnny stopped his truck abruptly in front of the main lobby and bolted inside get the attention of the staff.

My partner has been bit by a buncha scorpions! he told the nurse.

How many? the nurse asked.

I don’t know. A bunch. He stuck his hand in a hole and got bit. It’s all swollen.

Where is he?

In my truck outside. He can’t walk very good.

Bring him in. I’ll call the doctor. He should be right in.

Call the doctor? repeated Johnny.

The doctor isn't here. He's at his ranch.

Johnny waited in the hospital waiting room for the doctor to arrive and treat Matt. Matt was the only real friend Johnny had ever had. Everyone else in his life was just a work acquaintance. They had first met fifteen years ago when Matt hired on in Colorado. At the time, Johnny was an old hand of five years' experience.

Oil field work is high paying and attracts a great many people out to make quick money. Most new hires quit within two years and return to their farms and small towns to live respectable lives. Many years in the future they tell their children and grandchildren tales of their great adventure in the oil fields; of the cold, rain and dust storms. The children listen intently, aghast that the old man had a life before they were born.

The men that stay in the business are of two types. First are the men that stay because of the itinerant nature of the business. It rarely takes more than two months to drill a well and bring it into production; then they are off to some other drill site hundreds of miles away. These men enjoy this and take full advantage of the fact that they are temporary members of the local community. They give the locals false names and abuse the local hospitality. They court their daughters, to leave them with no notice.

They second type fall in love in love with the work. They love coming to a spot of nature untouched by humans and sink a hunk of civilization into it, changing it forever. They leave proud of a job well done as their wells extract the lifeblood of the nation.

Johnny and Matt belonged to the second group.

Johnny had no idea how long it took the doctor to arrive or to examine Matt. After an hour and a half the doctor entered the waiting room searching for Johnny. He appeared to be least seventy years old with a dark brown and very wrinkled face.

Are you Mister McGraw?

Yes. Johnny stood up.

Hello. I am Doctor Hanson. The two men shook hands. The doctor’s hands felt rough. Too much manual labor. Johnny suspected the doctor's main occupation was that of a rancher and that he was only a part-time doctor.

Your friend has had an unusual reaction to the scorpion bites, said the doctor. Normally a scorpion bite is not very serious, but Mister Chandler has been stung by many scorpions all at the same time. Baby scorpions are not as venomous as adult scorpions, but because there were so many stings the effect of their venom has been magnified. He had quite a drop in blood pressure.

Johnny frowned. Is he going to be OK? he asked.

It has been quite a shock to his system, but he is stable now and will be fine in a week or two.

A week or two? Johnny repeated. He started to unconsciously twist the magazine in his hands back and forth.

Yes. Just to be on the safe side, the doctor said calmly.

He’ll be in the hospital a week or two?

No. Oh, no. He can go home now. He just needs to rest from work a week or two while the swelling goes down and the feeling returns to his hand. Doctor Hanson looked down at Johnny's hands and noticed he had torn the magazine with his twisting.

He’s really going to be alright?

Oh yes. The doctor smiled at Johnny’s concern.

Thank God, said Johnny. Matt acted just like a man I once saw that had been bitten by a rattlesnake.

This is nothing like a snake bite. Completely different type of poison, but he will still need rest, said the Doctor Hanson.

Thank you for your help, sir.

We get lots of scorpion bites around here. More than snake bites. You people need to keep your hands out of holes.

Johnny tossed the mangled magazine back onto the pile of other magazines on the waiting room coffee table.

Will do. Johnny shook the doctor’s hand again, more vigorously than before.

*****

Since we’re shutting down the Cranfills Gap site, Matt can act as a watchman at the site for a couple weeks until we get ready to cap the well and remove the equipment, said Dan Hargrove. There won't be anyone else on-site until we get the final decision on shutting it down from corporate.

That’s a great idea, Johnny said.

Matt nodded and smiled. His hand was too swollen to drive a car and he did not want to stay in a Clifton motel watching only three broadcast channels on the TV. Camping out at the drill site would give him something to do, something with a purpose.

I like it, said Matt.

It will keep the curious locals out. Especially the kids. Kids are always attracted to big equipment. It will keep the thieves out too, said Hargrove. He can stay in the office. It has air conditioning.

Two days later, Matt sat in front of the television totally bored. He had no cell phone reception on his phone. No Internet. No cable TV.

He could watch television, but the three stations were in three different cities, so whenever he wanted to change channels he had to go outside and swing the outdoor antenna to a different direction to pick up the new station. That soon became too much work and he tried to stay on one channel. This was true isolation. Prison would be an improvement. No one should ever volunteer to be a security guard at drill site.

Now that no one was working in the office all kinds of noises could be heard- those little weird noises that were normally masked by the background chatter of normal everyday activity.

Unseen things creaked in the wind. Once, while Matt watched television a metal roof of some nearby building expanded under the heat of the sun and popped. Matt, afraid there was an intruder on-site, carefully left the security of the office and surveyed the area, but found nothing usual. He felt as if ghosts were congregating around the site waiting for the last human to vacate so they could move in.

Matt wished Johnny